Margo Maguire (14 page)

But Christina had showed him compassion, when many
of her peers would not. They’d have turned away and allowed the vile blacksmith
to beat the child to a bloody pulp.

“Have you eaten?” Gavin asked Christina.

She shook her head and gave him a sweet smile. “I
waited for you.”

He rose from the table. “Then I’ll return shortly.
Will you be all right?”

“Of course. But Gavin, I . . .” He saw
questions in her eyes. “Never mind. I will see you later.”

Gavin took his leave and went to his own room. He
peeled off his jacket and waistcoat, then pulled his shirt over his head,
pausing for a second to slide his fingers over Christina’s neat stitching. It
was further evidence that she did not compare to her peers. She was a different
sort of woman, entirely.

But he knew she had questions. About Eleanor, most
likely. Which could wait.

After pouring water into a basin, Gavin took his
shaving soap and razor from his pack, very much aware that he was shaving before
a rendezvous with a woman—for the first time in his life.

G
avin
had a sister.

Christina wondered about her, and about his farm in
Hampshire. She’d already guessed he was planning to purchase it with his reward
from Windermere, and felt more than a little bit guilty for causing a delay.

But surely he would go out of his way to assist his
own sister if she needed his help. Just as Christina was doing for Lang. Gavin
had to understand.

Lang’s predicament, whatever it might be, was never
far from Christina’s thoughts. The situation with Theo was a distraction they
didn’t need, though she was glad Gavin had intervened.

But Lang must be in extreme circumstances, and
unable to contact their father or anyone else in the family for assistance. She
could not imagine what could have happened to him.

Jenny returned for Theo, and Christina instructed
her to stay with the boy the following morning rather than coming up to help her
dress for their day’s travel. It was far more important that Theo be fed before
they left. The maid took Theo downstairs with her while Christina remained in
the small dining room, lost in thought.

“Is something amiss?” Gavin asked, coming toward
her. He looked fresh and clean, his hair was damp, and he was wearing his other
shirt.

She found herself suddenly breathless, and her hand
slipped up to her throat as though that would somehow contain her lustful
thoughts.

He sat in the chair adjacent to hers, not beside
her, but close enough to touch. As much as she longed to do so, she refrained.
Servants would soon bring their supper, and it would not do to be seen engaging
in improper behavior.

“I was just thinking about Lang.”

Gavin made an expression of comprehension, and
Christina was struck with how well she could read him after only a few days. She
might not know a lot about him, but she felt she had a far greater understanding
of him than she’d ever had of Edward. But then her husband had been a master of
deceit. He must have been, else Christina would have sensed something about his
affair with Mrs. Shilton.

“And about the letter Lieutenant Norris mentioned
. . .”

“Norris said your brother seemed disturbed by
it?”

“Yes. If we knew what was in that letter, it might
be a clue to help us to find him.”

She noted the almost imperceptible lowering of
Gavin’s right brow. His reaction reminded her of his earlier assertion that he
did not intend to solve her problems for her. Just because they’d become lovers
did not mean she could rely on him for anything more than what they’d agreed
upon, back at Sweethope Cottage.

“I do not expect you to find him for me, Gavin,”
she said quietly against a surprising burn at the back of her throat. “Only to
help me handle the blackmailer. That was what we agreed upon.”

Chapter 14

H
e’d ruffled Christina’s feathers without saying a word.

Maybe this was the moment to try and convince her to leave Lang’s fate in his own hands, rather than haring down to London to pay off—and try to capture—the damned blackmailer. If Lang was alive, which Gavin doubted, he was a grown man who ought to see to his own affairs.

One look at her told him she wasn’t going to accept any such option.

“I assume your father asked Lieutenant Norris about the letter.” Gavin could not help but wonder whether the man had had the audacity to kill his own friend in a scheme to collect money from his family.

Christina nodded. “He knew nothing.”

“What about your friend. The viscount?”

“Lord Brundle is no friend of mine,” she said with some vehemence.

“You don’t care for the fellow?” Gavin asked, though her tone made her sentiments toward the man quite obvious.

She pulled a face. “He was simply awful when he courted me. Fortunately, my father did not like him, either, and refused his offer of marriage.”

Gavin felt his brows rise. The man had gotten that far in his courtship? “So Brundle was not able to offer any more information than Norris.”

Christina shook her head. “Lieutenant Norris said he did not stay. Brundle was gone well before Lang left the tavern.”

Servants came and placed their meal before them, but Gavin had never been less interested in food. Or discussion. He didn’t want to talk about Lang or what Christina expected him to do about the blackmailer. He wanted to enjoy these perfect moments alone with her, anticipating the taste of her lips, breathing in her scent, stealing as many secret caresses as the moment allowed.

“You mentioned that All Hallows Church has an undercroft,” she said, dragging Gavin’s attention from the lovely hollow at the base of her throat. He could already taste it, could already feel the weight of her breasts in his hands.

He tamped down his lust and forced himself to recall the design of the church. “Aye. There’s an undercroft, but I’ve never been down there.”

A small crease appeared between her brows. Her hair shone in the candlelight, wisps of curls twining tightly near her ears. “Do you think the blackmailer will be able to slip away down beneath the church?”

“It’s possible. There are many pathways through All Hallows. And stairs. Doors. It’s possible your blackmailer could slip away unnoticed on a crowded Sunday morning.”

“But if you are already inside . . .”

Gavin nodded. “I might be able to see who it is and detain him.”

“I am counting on it,” she replied.

Which went without saying. Gavin knew Christina didn’t want anyone else to know about the situation with Lang, but he was going to have to recruit a few friends to help him cover the church’s stairs and exits. He figured he would then blend in with the crowd and watch for the man. When he saw the culprit who picked up the money, he would follow him out and detain him. Simple.

Unless the unexpected happened, and Gavin had enjoyed his years of success as Castlereagh’s assassin by anticipating the unexpected. It had been some years since he’d been to All Hallows by the Tower, and he hoped they would manage to arrive in London well before Christina was to leave the money in the lectern. He wanted the opportunity to recruit help and do some reconnaissance in advance of the date the money was to be left.

Gavin watched Christina push her food around her plate. He could see her thinking. Planning. Worrying. She was as bad as he. “Is there a staircase at the back of the church?” she asked. “One that leads to the undercroft?”

Gavin wondered if she was having second thoughts about her plan, which was hardly a plan at all. And too much thinking about it made her nervous.

“I don’t remember it well,” Gavin replied. “It’s been some time since I was there.”

She put down her fork. “What if he takes the money and slips away down the steps before you can reach him?”

He took her hand in his and slid his thumb along its palm. “We’ll get him.”

He knew what she wanted from the blackmailer, but was fairly certain she would not get it. It was time for her to face some harsh facts. “You do know that if Lang is not dead . . . he will face court-martial for desertion of his ship.”

She pulled her hand from his. “Lang would never do so willingly. I know it.”

“Christina, think about it,” Gavin said quietly. “If he did not desert his ship, then he must be—”

“No! I know what you think, but you could be wrong!” A silvery tear slid down her cheek, but she did not seem to notice it. “He could be in serious trouble, and unable to get word to us.”

Gavin sat back in his chair and said naught.

“And someone who knows about his circumstances—”

“Someone like Norris?” he asked.

Christina brushed away her tears. “Lieutenant Norris is a good friend of Lang. I cannot believe he would ever—”

“Not even if he were in dire straits?”

Color flooded her cheeks. “James Norris was introduced to our family as a man of honor, Gavin.”

“Even men of honor can become desperate.” He spoke quietly, but he knew he’d upset her terribly.

“Desperate enough to drag an unwilling woman to the grandfather who abandoned her?” she snapped.

Gavin clenched his teeth. “Aye.”

She took a deep breath. “So, what are you suggesting?”

“If Lang was not killed in the explosion, then Norris must know exactly what happened to him, and saw it as an opportunity.”

“An opportunity?” She pressed a hand to her breast. “To blackmail me?”

“To take advantage of a situation,” Gavin said, though he entertained the merest shadow of a doubt. Norris and Brundle had been drinking with Lang. Brundle left the tavern, then Lang had followed sometime afterward, but Norris said he did not know how long before the explosion Lang had left.

There was a slim possibility that Norris’s identification of Lang’s body had been wrong. Which would only put Lang into serious difficulties with the navy.

Christina’s green eyes narrowed with uncertainty. “You think I’m a gullible idiot.”

“Not at all. Christina . . .”

She stood and stalked away from the table to the fireplace. He could see she was fighting for control, so he got up and followed her.

She did not turn to face him, but irritation was in her voice when she spoke. “Lieutenant Norris would never hurt Lang. They were friends!”

“Christina.” He touched her arm, but she shrugged it off.

“You just want me to give up and go back to Windermere with you.”

Now it was Gavin’s turn to be angry. “If I’d wanted that, I’d have brought all this up before we left Holywell House.”

“I do not want to discuss this any further.”

He took hold of her shoulders and turned her to look at him. “You need to face the facts, Christina. Weigh all the possibilities.”

She shoved away from him and stormed out of the room, clearly unwilling to listen to reason.

“Christina.”

C
hristina did not want to hear any more, but she barely had a chance to close her door when Gavin pushed through it and turned the key in the lock behind him. He looked dangerous.

And full of words she did not wish to hear.

“Lieutenant Norris is not the enemy, Captain Briggs,” she said, angry now. “I cannot believe he would hurt Lang, and he certainly would not send threatening notes demanding money from me.”

Gavin started toward her. “Your generous heart does you credit. But Norris—”

“I am not a fool, Gavin,” she retorted, piqued by his patronizing tone. “I know that a man can lie straight-faced.” It galled her to admit that Edward had been quite good at it, and a shard of doubt about James Norris crept into her mind. She’d met him only a time or two, but he’d seemed perfectly respectable.

“You don’t know anything about James Norris or any of your brother’s other shipmates, Christina.”

“I know significantly more than you do.”

“I doubt that very much.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. It did not seem as though he was actually trying to provoke her, but he was succeeding quite well, in spite of himself.

“You need to listen to my counsel, Christina.”

The thought of one of Lang’s shipmates—a man her brother trusted—being responsible for all this sickened her.

Gavin jabbed his fingers through his hair, making a mess of it. Frustration came through quite clearly in his deep voice. “This is why you demanded that I come to London with you, is it not? To benefit from my . . . my experience with military scoundrels?”

“Perhaps I don’t need your assistance,” she said stubbornly. “If it’s Norris, as you seem to think, then I might be able to reason with hi—”

“Good God, woman. Whoever it is—Norris included—he will be dangerous. Blackmail is not to be taken lightly.”

How dare he underestimate her? “Of course I don’t take it lightly. But I’d planned to handle this on my own before you arrived at Sweethope Cottage, and that’s exactly what I’ll—”

“Christina— Oh hell.”

He yanked her into his arms and kissed her, his mouth devouring hers as though he would swallow her whole.

Christina responded in kind, grabbing his lapels and pulling him tightly against her. Tipping her head for better access to his lips, she moaned, and all her pent-up longings and desires—as well as her frustrations—rose to the surface.

She felt his hands slide up her back, and then down again, pressing her hips to his. He was hard against her, and she felt as though her limbs were melting.

Suddenly, he was working on her buttons, unfastening each one, baring skin, shoving the dark fabric off her shoulders, down her arms.

Christina started to work on his trews as he pressed hot kisses to her neck and throat, then down to the tips of her breasts. She freed his hard length, encircling him with her hand, running her thumb over the sensitive tip.

He groaned and, all at once, picked her up into his arms. He carried her the few steps to the bed and laid her upon it.

“As much as I want to be inside you, Christina . . .” he growled, “this time we’re going to go slowly. I want to taste every inch of you. And spend all night doing it.”